Beast Behaving Badly (35 page)

He took her like that, fucking her hard, wanting to claim her as his forever. Waiting for her to show him that she belonged to him. That at least her body knew, if not her mind.

“No,” she groaned. “I can't. Not again. I can't.”

But she did, her pussy gripping his cock, tearing his orgasm out of him as she came again, her body shuddering beneath his.

As Bo released inside her, his body shaking from the power of it, he buried his face against Blayne's shoulder. And it wasn't until he tasted blood that he realized his—smaller for his human form but still longer than most shifter's—fangs had embedded into Blayne's flesh.

For a brief, hopeful second, he'd hoped that Blayne hadn't noticed. But then her entire body tensed and she said, “What the hell did you just do?”

CHAPTER 27

E
zra Thorpe opened his front door. It wasn't even five yet, but he hadn't slept since the day Niles Van Holtz had shown up at his house.

And here he was again.

“Well?”

“We need to get your daughter out of Ursus County. We need to get her out now.”

Ezra had already heard from his buddies and connections that the Group had located and raided the building that housed the people who'd tried to take Blayne. He'd also heard that the hybrids who'd recently been stored in the basement, prepped for transport, had been released. But the hybrids who'd already been through a few fights, their moneymakers awaiting transport to a new location, had been too far gone. They'd been put down at the location. Harsh but necessary.

Yet what did any of that have to do with Blayne or Ursus County?

“Why?”

The wolf scratched his head, glanced up, then finally admitted, “Uh . . . 'cause that's where they've been taking the hybrids to get them ready to fight. Breaking them in, I guess. Anyway, we need to figure out what we're going to do next and, to be honest, we could use your skills.”

Ezra let out a sigh and reached for his coat from the stand. Only Blayne, he thought as he followed Niles Van Holtz to his limo.

 

 

Bo returned with a washcloth and some antibiotic. He placed everything on the bed and sat down across from her. Instead of reaching over to her to care for the wounds, he gripped her around the waist and pulled her onto his lap patiently waiting until her legs wrapped around his hips.

She stared off over his shoulder and bit the inside of her lip when she felt the first swipe of the cleaning cloth against her brand-new bite marks.

“Blayne?”

“Uh-huh?”

“You're not talking to me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you mad?”

“Uh-uh.”

“But you're not talking to me?”

“Uh-uh.”

“I need you to talk to me, Blayne.”

She shook her head.
Not a good idea. Not a good idea.

“I just marked you, Blayne. I won't lie and say I had it planned out, but I can't say that I mind, either. The way I feel about you . . . making you mine just feels right. But I need you to tell me how you feel. I need you to say something. Anything. Please.”

Well, if he wanted her to say something . . . “I'm never going to be on time, I'm either going to be twenty minutes late to two hours early, and don't think I can function on that list thing you do, I mean I like lists as much as the next person and they can be quite helpful but I will not live under your Stalin-like schedules, nor will I feel bad if I put something in what I am sure is your frighteningly pristine home out of place—how can anyone relax in that kind of situation? And I don't want to live in fear of you getting a bug up your ass and throwing out what you've affectionately referred to as my ‘crap,' and speaking of which, I love the watch, I really do, but at some point I will want to take it off, maybe wear some cheap piece of crap I get for a deal on the street and I don't want you freaking out every time I do, I can't constantly be worrying about time and to be quite blunt . . . I want children, lots and lots of children and you don't even like kids, not only that—”

Bo placed his hand over her mouth. “Brakes. Train.”

She glared at him over his fingers.

“To make this easier for me, I'll address each of your points. In order.”

“Number one, you may always be late, but I'll always be on time. And yes, I will bug you if you're running late and it's holding me back as well, but it's not something I'll get hysterical over because I understand that's you and you won't get hysterical when you realize that I give you too-early meeting times since I already know you'll be two hours late.”
Wait. What?
“Second, I don't insist anyone keeps or maintains a schedule but me. All I do ask is that you respect the schedule I do have because right now, at this point in my life, it's about hockey and my commitment to the team I'm on. Third, stop comparing my time management skills to dictators. Fourth, I won't throw your stuff out unless it's actually in the trash, but if I start seeing extreme hoarder tendencies, you're going to therapy. Fifth, I don't care if you wear cheap, pretty crap as long as you don't use that cheap crap as an excuse for why you're late. You can't have it both ways. It's not fair. And sixth, I don't hate children, but I'm positive that I'll always consider my kids better than anyone else's because they're mine, which will automatically make them amazing.” He paused, nodded his head, and said, “I think I hit all your concerns.”

“Every one,” she agreed.

“Yeah.”

“You actually listened to me, and took me seriously.”

“Of course.”

Blayne stormed off the bed. “And how, exactly, am I supposed to deal with that?”

Bo leaned back on the bed, his palms flat, his arms keeping him propped up. “At this point . . .
nothing
I say will make you happy, will it?”

“Probably not!”

 

 

She would always make him crazy, wouldn't she? Whether they were in bed or out of it, she would always make him feel a little off kilter. A little . . . baffled. He wasn't sure that was a good thing, but he knew he'd never be bored. He'd never wander away from her. The thought of what she'd do while he was gone was simply too terrifying.

She snatched his jersey off the floor and pulled it on before storming out of the room. Deciding he wasn't done with this fight, Bo went after her. She was already walking out the front door, morning light flooding the hallway by the time he turned the corner.

“You're not even wearing shoes,” he called after her, relieved to see that at least the storm had blown over.

“Thanks, Mom! I'll keep that in mind.”

Grabbing a set of boots she'd left lying on the floor, he followed her out the door.

“Do you want to lose your toes? Do you think that'll be attractive?” She stood at the top of the porch, so he crouched beside her, placing her feet in the boots. “Don't make me mental, Blayne.”

“Uh . . . Bo?”

“We can argue. You can walk away.”

“Bo.”

He tied her boots. “But don't walk away into volcanoes or tsunamis or into the freezing Ursus County cold because you're being a drama queen.”

“Bo!”

“What?”

Blayne cleared her throat and said, “Uh . . . Bold Novikov, I'd like you to meet my father. Ezra Louis Thorpe.”

Praying she was kidding—but already knowing she wasn't—he looked down the porch stairs. Unsmiling, black, powerfully built, in his fifties, and still wearing a buzz cut that was mere millimeters from bald, Bo knew this was Blayne's father.

“Sir,” Bo said before raising his gaze to Blayne's. “I am so naked,” he whispered. What kind of first impression could he be making right now?

“I'm almost positive he noticed that,” she whispered back. “Although if you go inside and get some pants . . . I don't think he'll mind.”

Bo nodded. “Good plan.” Then, with as much dignity as he could muster, he stood and walked into his uncle's house.

 

 

Blayne waited until Bo had disappeared into the house before she marched down the stairs to her father.

“Why are you here?” she asked, seriously confused.

“I thought you wouldn't come home unless I came here myself to get you.”

“Yeah, but . . . I didn't expect you to actually come here. Although a phone call making sure I was okay would have been nice.”

Her father flicked her on the forehead, something she'd always hated. “Yeah. I can tell you've been hiding under the couch, waiting to be rescued for days now.” It took a lot not to cringe when her father reached over and tugged down the collar of her jersey just enough to see where Bo had marked her.

“Huh,” he said. He laid the collar back down, sighed. “I don't want to worry you, but you're still oozing.”

“Gee . . . thanks, Dad.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“You see that your daughter is marked, and that's the best you can come up with?”

“What would you like to hear then? ‘Hope your kids aren't freaks?'”

“Oh, my God!” she exploded. “
You're a such a
—”

A big hand wrapped around her face, cutting off the rest of the sentence that would send father and daughter into one of their screaming matches. “Let's get you dressed,” Bo said, shoving her toward the house. “So we can head home.”

He pushed her up the porch, down the hallway, and into the bedroom they'd been sharing. He closed the door. “You need to calm down,” he told her.

“He called our future children freaks!” she accused.

“We're having children now? Because before he showed up you couldn't handle living under my brutal regime.”

“I never said that.”

“Really?” he asked, grabbing the clean clothes he'd placed on the bed for her and handing them over. “Because it sounded like you did.”

“I don't hate you, you idiot. I'm in love with you.
That's why I'm panicking!”
She marched to the door and yelled,
“And our children will not be freaks!”

“Except their mother already is,” her father yelled back.

Deciding that the old bastard's untimely death was in order, Blayne yanked the door open, but Bo quickly slammed it shut again. He leaned against it and gazed down into her face. “You love me?”

“Do you think I'd put up with your obsessive nature for five seconds if I didn't love you?”

“And I'm sure the multimillion-dollar hockey career has nothing to do with it,” her father said through the door.

“When we get home, old man. You are so going to the old folks kennel!”

“Yeah, yeah,” her father said. “I look forward to it. Until then, think you can shift that shiftless ass into gear so we can get out of here before those Van Holtz idiots start whining about your goddamn safety—again?”

 

 

They walked into the chief 's office, and Blayne squealed, “Lock!” She tore across the room, throwing herself into the grizzly's arms.

Bo's eyes narrowed, and his mane dropped to his shoulders.

“Oh, no,” her father said next to him with a level of sarcasm even Bo was finding hard to take. “Your kids won't be freaks at all.”

“I love your daughter, sir,” Bo said low for Mr. Thorpe's benefit only. “But don't think for a second I won't snap your neck like a twig if you get on my nerves.” The wolf looked up at him, brows raised, and Bo added, “No, really.”

Laughing, the wolf walked away from him while MacRyrie placed Blayne on her feet.

“I'm sorry I didn't talk to you the last time you were here,” she said.

“Don't worry about that. Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. I'm great! And I'm so glad to see you.”

Blayne hugged the grizzly again, and MacRyrie patted her back, leaning in a bit. His head dipped low, his nostrils flaring, and that's when his gaze shot up to Bo's. The hybrid raised his arms in clear challenge, a bit of grizzly fang making him snort.

“Blayne?”

Blayne lifted her head from MacRyrie's chest and looked at Van Holtz standing a few feet away. “Blayne, I'm . . . I'm so . . .”

She unwrapped her arms from MacRyrie's waist and walked up to Van Holtz.

“I am so—”

The slap to his face rang out, startling everyone in the room, even Bo and her father. But Van Holtz took it like a wolf, not even backing away.

“Don't ever lie to me again,” she said. “Don't ever betray me again. The next time, I promise you won't get off so easy.”

“I know.” Van Holtz shrugged. “Now can I have a hug?”

The smile blossomed across Blayne's face, and she leaped into Van Holtz's arms, making Bo sigh. The woman needed Bo in her life if for no other reason than to protect her from these idiots she insisted on befriending.

Van Holtz hugged Blayne tight to him, his nose against her neck. Two seconds of that and, like the grizzly, those eyes shot up to Bo's. This time . . . Bo grinned.

“That's right,” he said without saying a goddamn word. “She's mine. Off limits!”

But just as Bo was feeling the need to go ahead and say those words out loud, his uncle stepped in front of him. Whispering, he said, “You should head back now. Take Blayne with you.”

Sure, his uncle could be throwing him out because he was tired of him or Blayne or both, but Bo knew better. Something was wrong. He nodded, about to sweetly suggest to Blayne that they leave, but those damn wolfdog ears.

By the time he stepped around his uncle, she was standing in front of Van Holtz, facing them all. “Why do you want us to go?” she asked.

“Blayne—”

“Why, Grigori?”

“Tell her,” Ezra Thorpe pushed. “You might as well tell her.”

“Tell me what?”

It was Van Holtz who, as usual, did the talking. “The ones who did this to you, who grabbed you, they're part of a bigger organization. A multistate fighting ring. It seems on the East Coast, after they grab the hybrids they hold them for a few weeks or months, to get them ready for the fights before they sell them off to different buyers all over the country.”